Suicide and Gunsmoke
by Dirge for the Dead
Summary: XXX "If you jump from here, your wish will come true... Right? Then you'll surely be dead. For good." Damien cocked his head to the side innocently. "Now, come on. Why don't you just jump?" XXX
1. Bury me in Black

_It's been exactly a year since I got this! Yay! So of course I had to write something for Kenny. :3 Hope you enjoy~!_

* * *

He opened his eyes and saw three fourth graders run by, laughing happily. His sight was drawn to a keychain bouncing around on a girls purple backpack. It was of a white bear, and it was bouncing around with an irregular rhythm. It was funny how his eyes were drawn to the smallest of things.

It seemed he had been sitting on the bench for a few hours now. Minutes. Days. Weeks. Years. It didn't really matter anymore. Everything was the same. Time passed by at the same pace. Everything was dull. Boring. The same.

Slowly, he stood up, brushing nonexistent dirt off of his dark colored jeans. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, he was just walking. Step by step, second by second, he was moving.

How many times have I walked down this road?

The February air made his cheeks flush red, going through his thin sweater and giving him goosebumps. He couldn't feel the chill embracing him. He was cold, but not chilly. Cold inside, feeling-less, and he couldn't feel anything else. Cold, mundane. Dull. This was how Kenny McCormick felt.

A concrete building loomed in front of him, the dark clouds swirling behind it giving it an ominous feeling. Wind blew from behind it, making the oak trees standing by it in it's abandoned yard blow its fading leaves through the air, making small twists and turns, like some type of cosmic ballet. One leaf, a faded orange color, got stuck in Kenny's blond hair. He ran a hand through it, successfully pulling it out and dropping it to the ground. He brushed his pale bangs out of his face, giving him a better view of the building before him.

It was a grainy color of gray, with cracks leading down its sides in dark, foreboding criss-cross patterns. It's windows were dark and cracked, some shattered and some shuttered up with rotting wooden boards. It didn't have a No Trespassing sign, but it did have a chainlink fence surrounding it. He slipped his overly thin frame through a small opening and entered the building. There was graffiti covering the walls, but nothing that could really be called 'art'. It only further heightened the feeling of abandonment the building had. Shards of glass and litter covered the concrete floor, crunching under his feet as he walked to the stairs. He was taking the same path that he had taken, through the floor and up the floor.

Unlike the psychological feeling of suffocation he had felt at the station, this time it was a physical shortness of breath that Kenny felt as he used his legs to go upstairs. There was no way there were working elevators here.

Tenth floor. Most trespassers didn't bother coming this high. So, unlike the floors below, this one was not cluttered with glass and trash. Just a thin layer of dust and words written with magic marker on the wall by the window.

Those words remained, without any sign of disappearing.

The boy had committed suicide about a year ago. At the time, he had been a sophomore in high school. Just a year older than Kenny. He had leapt from the tenth floor.

He had scrawled countless words on the walls of this floor. Words which could have been badly-written poetry or maybe his final testament.

Crap.  
It's all crap.  
Nothing has a meaning anymore.  
Crap.  
Living is crap. Why doesn't anyone realize this?

That was his last message to the world.

Kenny approached the window where the boy had jumped into the sunset sky to his death. After his suicide, the police had covered all of the windows of the floor with tape. Kenny ripped away part of the tape so that he could see outside. He wanted to see the scenery that the boy had seen. Forcing the rattling window open, a gust of cold February air into his face and blowing the dust that had settled on the windowsill into his face and making him shut his eyes. Coughing, Kenny stepped back for a moment until it subsided, then stepped forward again.

His hair had grown irritatingly long, as if to erect a barrier against all human reaction. From between the countless platinum strands, he viewed a distorted world.

The sun had begun to descend, painting the sky a bright Bengal orange.

A year ago, the boy had seen this exact same view. He had realized that he had no wings, and yet, he had tried to fly.

The boy had died. He had taken his own life and ended it forever. But Kenny was not dead, yet neither was he truly alive. The poem, though one of despair, had strangely touched the teenager.

The boy, to bring his thoughts to life, had left his 'poem'.

It was later discovered that he had had countless poems and thoughts scribbled in notebooks he had left behind. Those feelings of pain, despair and hopelessness remained in the world as a reminder.

Kenny shut his eyes and turned his head to the ceiling, ignoring the chills radiating through his body and the urge to run away.

As he opened his eyes once more, he saw in front of him the white clouds of his breath and the orange fading into dusk. As if to shake him from his thoughts, a strong wind blew forth. His body reacted without thought. Kenny put his hand on the windowsill and leaned half of his body outside.

The ground below seemed so far away. The height was enough to make him dizzy. This was a place cut off from the world.

He had no wings to fly. Scattered tufts of dust drifted in the air like feathers, but they were not his wings. He had no wings. He'd realized that about himself a long while ago.

Crap.  
Crap.  
Crap.  
Crap.  
Crap.  
Crap-

Like a chant, the word ran through his head.

Fly. Reach for the sky. You can do it, he thought.

"I'll never see this warped twilight again. Goodbye, fleeting world-"

Just as he was about to hurl himself out of the window, it happened.

_~Fsht_

The smell of smoke. And then, a voice.

"Do you want to fly?"

The voice was close- no, it was whispered in his ear. Not expecting this, Kenny swallowed back a shriek of fear.

There shouldn't have been anyone else there! No matter how focused he was on his task, he would have realized it if someone came near. His body froze, but he managed to move his eyes towards the direction of the voice.

A face was there. Close enough for him to feel an exhaled breath on his cheek, had there been any.

He had thin, with slanted, bright red eyes. His skin was almost as pale as snow, giving him a ghost look. His jaw was rounded yet straight, framed by his dangling dyed red and black dreadlocks. He seemed to be older than Kenny, but he was about seven inches shorter than his 5'10 frame.

"Damien?"

"If you're going to fly," the demon continued, "then you need to spread your wings. Or... would you just rather die?"

He fixed his thin red eyes on his. His voice, low and grainy with an implacable accent, had the feel of an adults voice, although he couldn't be older than fifteen.

"If you fall from here, it will be quite painful. Unless you want to kill yourself, that is." He laughed softly.

Kenny quickly regained his senses, edging away from Damien and the window. "What are you doing here, Damien?" he said as bravely as he could.

"I felt the presence of death, that's all." Damien answered flatly. Without making a sound, the Anti-Christ approached the boy. "You're trying to kill youself, aren't you?You know that suicide would take you away from life forever. You won't come back. " he asked. "Er..." Kenny hesitated, and it wasn't because his throat was dry.

"That's odd. You do want to die, don't you?" Damien asked. "Then why don't you just do it?"

The boy's body trembled upon hearing such words uttered without a hint of emotion. Without warning, Damien snickered and moved away from him. He pointed towards the open window.

"Go ahead."

As if hypnotized, Kenny was unable to look away from Damien's slanted, red eyes.

"If you jump from here, your wish will come true... Right? Then you'll surely be dead. For good." Damien cocked his head to the side innocently. "Now, come on. Why don't you just jump?"

"..." Stunned, Kenny was unable to move a muscle.

"What are you doing? You were about to jump because you wanted to die, weren't you?" Damien let out a big sigh. "I guess you can't kill yourself after all. What was that now, some spur of the moment thing? You can't even kill yourself of your own free will. How sad."

Damien looked at him with cheerless, pitying eyes. "At this rate, you won't get the death you so desire. You probably confused the aura of death around you for your own, didn't you?"

The Anti-Christ's words rang in Kenny's ears and slowly traveled to his brain. Slowly being absorbed. Melting.

"You're emitting the smell of death. You reek of it. But it isn't yours, this time." Damien slowly started to fade away. "Remember that. Okay then... see you."

_~Fsht_

In an instant, everything went white. Kenny was taken aback. He looked around and, of course, no one was there.

"What was that just now?" he asked no one in particular, his low voice echoing around the empty room. "...it was just a bad dream," he answered. "I had a bad dream... must have fainted."

He had let his chance slip away. Death was now estranged from him. Now it seemed better to get away from this place.

At least for today.

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You like it? Then stay tuned for more chapters! Yes, its multichaptered. It won't turn into some huge thirty chapter thing; I'd say about three to five. Reviews?

Songs inspiring this chapter:  
Faking My Own Suicide (Relient K)


	2. Call it Karma

_Enjoy the next chapter! _

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The train bell rang as he descended onto the platform. South Park had only recently gotten train stations; about three months ago. They were pretty new, and were the hottest form of transportation. Everyone rode them everywhere because it was 'cool', but Kenny only rode it because he hated the bus and he was too poor to have a car.

Kenny wove his train pass at the driver, who nodded and let him on. It was only ten minutes from here to his house.

The boys brain refused to think. It was simply too cluttered; he was unable to clear his line.

The tenth floor of the building. He didn't have any clear memories of what had happened. Fragments of images, like photographs, formed layers in his mind.

As he rode, he drew. Drawing was a hobby he had gained in fifth grade, when everything had started to go downhill.

The pictures he drew in black. The orange sunset. Uneasiness. An impulse. Ratty black clothes. Dyed hair. Sad eyes. A line. Tied up in knots. Unfeeling. Pale skin. Wind. Dust. The impulse of death.

It was all surreal, and his bran was rejecting it. It couldn't possibly be real.

_Don't touch what's real to me._

He realized he was in front of his house. For an instant, he hesitated in opening the door. It had been quite a while since he had last felt this way.

A long time ago, when he was still in grade school, he had thought, _If I open this door, it'll happen again._

But nowadays, he felt nothing and had not felt like that for a long time. He opened the door and stepped inside.

"I'm home..." he said to no one in particular. Kicking off his shoes, he headed went into the living room, which he had to go through in order to get to his room.

Upon stepping into the living room, a persons senses would be assaulted by the rattiness of it all. Broken furniture, glass and beer cans lay scattered across the filthy carpet. The plaster on the walls was cracking, and the one wall that had been wallpapered in paisley three years ago was peeling away, showing a splintering wooden wall and paint splatters. Old furniture born of trash picking was piled in a corner along with a television set sitting haphazardly on an old chair, a ratty couch sitting in front of it.

Today, something else was crammed in there. Kenny's father was nestled into the sofa, one hand clutching a beer can. More like it were scattered about the floor around him.

"Dad. You're home." The words coming from Kenny's mouth sounded flat, with no hint of emotion.

"What the fuck were you doing, staying out this late?" Kenny's father growled, turning his head and sending a glare his way that could make flowers wilt. But Kenny didn't flinch.

"Had to stay late at school." Kenny murmured, looking down. Karen and Kevin had failed to come home three years ago, within two weeks of each other. No one could find them, and his mother had flipped out, running away to find them. When she didn't return either, his father had barred him from following them. Like Kenny even would. His dad had become worse and worse, even killing his son a few times. Sometimes, Kenny just wished he would stay dead.

"Like I'll believe that shit." he spat. Kenny braced himself just in time- a fist connected with his face, making him fall to the floor. Kenny closed his eyes and waited it for it to be over. When his father finally spat on Kenny's shirt and went into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him, Kenny opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for several minutes, not bothering to move. Finally, he slowly shifted so that he was in a position that he could use to get up, very slowly but very surely. Finally, he was standing up and able to stumble towards his room, closing the door with his foot and plopping down, face first, on the bed. The movement made his new bruises and cuts sting, and Kenny would have cried if he didn't feel so empty already. _Why does this always happen to me, _he wondered.

_Don't touch what's real to me._

Kenny McCormick- only fifteen, and the mere shell of a human being.

* * *

School was almost unbearable. Minutes ticked by on a clock ten minutes slow, therefor making every class longer than they should have been. His friends had given up on him long ago, not even trying to help him. Even though he didn't wear his old hoodie anymore, he felt like his face was covered, his mouth muffled so that no one understood him. He was just as, if not more, invisible. No one blinked when he died.

In grade school, Kenny would always have someone to hang out with. It kept the emptiness inside, where it could be controlled, because at least people knew who he was. Now, no one really did. He was the strange, unpopular kid in the corner. Even though Kenny didn't really care about romance anymore, he was still known as the pervert whore.

The strain of coercion, the difficulties- he tried to forget those by drawing.

In order to escape the pain, he suppressed his emotions, performed automatically-like a machine- held no interest in anyone, and simply waited for time to pass by, and waited for his next death, hoping that this one could save him or something. He sacrificed the things he wanted most. And, in doing so, he required suburb painting skills.

_This is a crappy life. A worthless world. This is my reality. And this is the only reality I have. This must be... some karmic revenge or something, _Kenny reasoned._ I should have never been born. This is revenge._

* * *

"-McCormick."

It was break period. Kenny stood up to go to the bathroom, and maybe grab a smoke, when someone tapped him on the back. Turning back, he saw two of his old friends- Stan and Cartman- looking at him with smirks on their faces. Behind them, there were several other people. Most of them Kenny recognized- Bebe, Wendy, Craig, Kyle, and some other people he didn't really, like a boy with messy blond hair and a girl with red hair. Perhaps they all wanted to talk to them and these two were their representatives.

"Hey, I saw you going into that old suicide building." Cartman smirked. "Gonna commit suicide, Kenneh? Being all emo, emo boy?"

Kenny blinked.

"Dude, you've been so out of it recently." Stan made the motion gesturing 'a few screws loose'. "You just got all emo and stopped hanging with us. What'd we do?"

As if he didn't know. Kenny had tried to tell them about his home problems and maybe ask for help to find his family so that his dad wouldn't abuse him so much, and they had brushed it off and told him to stop being such a girl.

"Now you're just drawing all the time and being an art nerd." Cartman piped up, scratching his head. "Faggot."

Kenny let emotions get to him and shot him a severe look. Cartman, strong as he was, flinched under the powerful glare. Kenny, on the other hand, had lost patience with the conversation. He turned his back and left the classroom.

_-SLAM!_

The abrupt sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room.

_You're all full of crap, _he thought angrilly. _So what if I don't want to hang out with you? Maybe you ignored me too much. God, you all... GRR._

His furious steps mirrored the thoughts whirling violently through his mind. He already knew they thought he was a freak. A fag. He already knew he sucked. Why, he wondered, did no one ever understand him? There was no one who understood his worth.

Well, that figures, he told himself, I have no worth anyway.

He knew that if there was one thing in the world that could save him, he knew it was that place.

After Kenny stormed out of the classroom, everyone stared after him, wearing the same irritated expressions on their faces.

"What the hell's with that guy?" Bebe growled.

"He always did get on my nerves." Craig leaned against the wall, giving where Kenny had been the finger.

"That's just plain rude," Wendy stated. "What's up with him?"

"All we wanted to ask was why he wasn't hanging out with us."

"Whatever, he can just roll over and die." declared Cartman.

"Come to think of it," Kyle suddenly remembered, "I heard this from Clyde. You know where that junior high kid jumped? Clyde said he's seen Kenny go into that building a couple times."

"For real?"

"What's up with that?"

"Faggot. Maybe he's a freak who's into that sort of thing, or..."

"Or?"

"Maybe he wants to kill himself?"

"No shit?"

"Well, if Kenneh would just hurry up and die, maybe he wouldn't be such a pain in the ass anymore."

"Got that right."

At this, they all laughed loudly, with mouths wide open and hands clapping. Here was an environment where people laughed about another persons death.

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_Songs inspiring this chapter:  
_  
_Bite My Tongue (Relient K)_  
_Burn Me, Abuse Me, Kill Me Slowly (Hanging Regina)_  
_I'm Not Okay (My Chemical Romance)_  
_Be My Escape (Relient K)_

_Cookies to rockergurl95 for the review~!_


	3. November

_Thank you for all the reviews~! This is like the first time that I've ever written for this show, so I'm happy that I'm successful so far! ^^ You all make me so happy! Remember, reviews mean faster updates!_

_Oh, and I guess that I should put a disclaimer here._

**I OWN ALL CHARACTERS BECAUSE I MADE SOUTH PARK. BOW DOWN TO ME AND WORSHIP ME.**

_No, I didn't. I own nothing. God, you guys, why do we put these things up? It's ! Note the 'fan' part! And besides, if I owned South Park, do you really think I'd be writing fanfiction for it? Christ!_

_And now, onto the story. So yeah._

* * *

On that day, what did the boy feel?

What was he thinking?

How did he make himself jump?

Kenny was again climbing to the top of the building. The tenth floor had not changed since he had visited a few days ago. He had been a bit hesitant to come back, ever since that day. He had tried to forget the 'dream' because it was just a bit too fantastic, and if he didn't, it just might become real.

Then again, this was South Park.

This place, this building, gave him comfort from the outside world. It was a bittersweet, melancholy feeling, as if he had returned to the place that had given birth to him. When he was here, he felt as if he could understand what the boy had thought and seen. He felt as if he could fuse and he one with the boy.

Usually, it was that way. But today was different.

He couldn't empathize with the boy. He couldn't feel anything. The poems the boy had left behind ceased to tell him things. It was because of that 'dream'. Because it had stirred his reality.

He stared intently, in an attempt to summon forth the words from the ash-colored walls. He mumbled the words that used to appear before his eyes as if they were a song.

"Crap. Crap. Crap..."

The landscape at dusk. The black sketches. The color of blood on his dirty hands. Black lines. The torn drawing. The word 'crap'.

It was a drawing of a worthless world. Of course it was worth crap.

_If you can't understand that, _Kenny told himself, _you're full of even more crap._

"Crap. Crap. Crap."

The words were like an ink brush that drew an enormous picture in Kenny's mind. And finally, the fusion grew anew. An irrepressible surge ran throughout his body.

Yes. This is my revenge.

He sought vengeance against the meaning of his birth. Vengeance against himself.

Without even noticing it, Kenny started singing. Quietly at first, and then louder and louder until he was almost shouting.

_"Tonight, my head is spinning..."_ Kenny opened the window and climbed onto the windowsill. Leaning half of his body outside, he stood up. "_I need something to pick me up. I've tried but nothing is working."_ He would become that boy on that fateful day, and he would feel as the boy once felt, standing here one year ago_."I won't stop, I won't say I've had enough."_ He had only been alive for fourteen years, yet he had seen the end of the world. _"Tonight, I start the fire." _Life is crap. He spat on all landscapes. _"Tonight, I break away." _Who would try to stop the boy's flight now? "_Break away from everybody, break away from everything. If you can stand the way this place is take yourself to all your places..."_

"And now," Kenny said, "I, too, will fly."

Go to the extreme, to the highest height. Nobody could stop him now. Not even that Goth boy, Damien.

Damien? He stopped, sweat pouring from everywhere on his body.

"...No... It was only a dream..."

He didn't even have to turn around to know.

_~Fsht_

"The death you yearn for... will not come like that. Didn't I tell you?"

The demon stood there.

His pale lips parted as he spoke. "You can go ahead and die, but we have no schedule for you. So the Grim Reaper can't take you soul to Hell, let alone Heaven. Unscheduled souls are rarely welcome. They get left in holding for a while, and sometimes, they're forgotten. You might end up drifting in limbo for all eternity. In other words, you won't get to where you want to go."

"Shut up, you!" Kenny barked suddenly. Damien didn't blink. "You show up all of a sudden, talking this nonsense at me." Kenny came down from the windowsill and back into the room. He approached Damien angrily.

"Don't mess with my reality! Don't into my soul, stepping all over it with your dirty shoes!"

"..." Damien stood there quietly.

Kenny's tirade continued. "You're nothing but a dream! There's no way you're real! So I'm not afraid of you! I'm not afraid!"

"I see... so what you're saying is, you are afraid."

The words took Kenny by surprise, and his composure began to falter.

"Is it me you're afraid of?" Damien asked. "Or... dying?"

"I'm not afraid to die! And I'm not afraid of you either! Compared to the pain of living, dying is nothing..."

This time, Damien spoke with a controlled, steady voice. "Then hurry up and die."

Strange that such power and intimidation could reside within such a short, childish demon's gaze.

But what was even more surprising to Kenny was that when he turned around, he noticed the sad, almost pained, expression on the boy's face. His face was marred by a heretofore unseen expression of emotion, of pain. His eyes remained fixed on Kenny. He couldn't fathom why he would look at him so sadly. After all, wasn't he the Son of Satan, the Anti-Christ himself?

"Dying is better than living, eh? Is that what you think?" Damien shook his head emphatically. His low voice tore through the air like pounding raindrops. "Don't be a fool. That's not possible. Do you know how many people who die beg to come back to life? Beg to be given one more chance? While working the Gates, I've listened to the words of those who yearned to live. I've had to ignore their tears and hopeless smiles."

"But I want to die." the boy said.

"You'll die, and then what?"

"I dunno. I'll escape. I'll become light. A light that will shine forever."

"You can't."

"I can too!" he said adamantly. "Artists who died without ever hearing a single word of praise for their work while they lived... Their works are not worth an insane, astronomical sum. That's right. They achieved illumination! Only after they died for good, for good, did they shine brightly. They left a message that would remain for all eternity. So I'll die too, and I'll shine! And maybe everyone'll feel bad because they never cared!"

"You're wrong about that." Damien disagreed.

"What's wrong?"

Damien continued to look at Kenny. His sad eyes quickly changed into something more pitying.

"People can not shine by dying. The only reason they appear is because they struggled so hard to live, and if they survived, they shone. Simply put, death is not the same as survival. What about you? Are you trying your best at living?"

Kenny was unable to answer. The words cut emotions he thought he had lost resurfaced. The heart buried within the cold piece of machinery he had built around himself began to throb with pain.

"One year ago," Damien recounted, "I was visiting and met the boy with whom you identify yourself. I told him that he didn't have to die; that he had a life to live, and everyone would miss him. When he took his own life, the boy said, 'This is what I choose.' But he seemed to be in such pain. So lonely. He told me not to let anyone die like this, here, again. That is why I am here. Of course, it is a sad thing... when people wish to die, yet at the same time they yearn to live."

Kenny wanted to say so many thing to him. _Why are you so sad? Why do you look at me with such sad eyes? Don't look at me with so much fucking pity!_

Instead, he shouted, "You have no right to look at me that way!"

And he ran.

He ran past Damien and stumbled down the stairs.

The demon was left in the room, looking at where Kenny had been standing, and he walked up towards the window and peering out at the orange sunset.

"It's so pretty when you're looking _down_ at it...

* * *

_I hate doing the dishes because it's right next to the window and it's always dark outside. It's pretty creepy. So._

_Oh, and I won a Kenny doll at Kings Island! First thing I did when I got home was give him a tour of the house. But yesterday my boyfriend and his friends were tossing him around like a football and his drawstring ripped off. I'm pretty pissed. The guy who did it has the bite marks to prove it._

_Oh, and the song is Break, by Three Days Grace._


End file.
